


Só um beijo (Just A Kiss)

by Ygern



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, hairdresser au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ygern/pseuds/Ygern
Summary: AU where James is a trendy hairdresser and Robbie is his customer who falls helplessly in love.“I’m genuinely concerned about your eyesight, James Hathaway,” said Robbie.“And I’m genuinely concerned about your poor choices in hair product, Inspector Lewis, but I’ll make it this year’s project to reform you.”





	1. Chapter 1

Robert Lewis was frazzled and at the end of his patience. It was bad enough that he’d been volunteered by Chief Superintendent Innocent to give a speech to a room full of bored coppers at one of those terminally pointless conferences that appeared to be an inescapable part of modern policing. It was worse that he would have to travel up to London to give it tomorrow. Worst of all was being caught before he slipped out the door at the end of the day by the aforementioned CS Innocent, all designer suit, high heels and no nonsense bun.

“Lewis, a word,” she said.

Lewis sighed, mentally turned his eyes heavenward and turned back to face his fate.

“Ma’am?”

“Are you planning on going like that?”

“Like what?”

“In that suit, which has seen better days, and that tie, which doesn’t match by the way, and you need a haircut. DI s are supposed to lead by example. The example you’re setting is that you can’t be bothered. Please make sure you turn up tomorrow looking like something a young policeman can aspire to rather than someone who wandered in off the streets by accident.”

“I’ll consult my wardrobe,” Lewis said solemnly.

“Do,” said Innocent. “And for God’s sake, get a haircut before you go.”

“Ma’am,” he said.

As a result Lewis was stuck on the High Street in Oxford around closing time desperately trying to find a building that looked like it might contain a hairdresser. He remembered having seen something down a side street some months before when he’d been in the area on a case, but now he couldn’t remember which one it was. The summer evening was humid and warm so he pulled off his offending tie and loosened his collar as he stalked down the side alleys looking in vain for the shop front he thought he remembered. That was when he saw the ‘How Shall I Style Thee?’ sign and stared in dismay at the shop front. It was not what he was looking for, it looked a little bit more on the trendy side of what he was used to, all shiny chrome and red leather, but it was open and the late hour meant that beggars could not be choosers.

As he walked in the door, a man with hair the most artificial red Lewis had ever seen looked up and said sullenly in an accent that sounded slightly Irish, “We’re closed.”

Lewis’s heart sank and he hesitated and was about to leave when another voice spoke.

“It’s alright, Feardorcha,” the voice was clear and self-assured and the accent was educated and put Lewis in mind of terminable Shakespeare plays he’d been forced to sit through in high school.

“I’ll look after our customer and close up. You can head out if you want.”

The owner of the voice came into view from around the corner. He was tall and ice-blonde and smiled kindly at Robbie and nodded to the man behind the counter.

“Fine,” the man he’d called Feardorcha said, “see you tomorrow,” and with that he shouldered his bag and was out the door in the space of a second.

“Forgive my colleague,” said the man, “his partner is having a do tonight, so he’s in a rush. I’m James, by the way,” and he held out his hand.

“Robbie,” said Lewis shaking the offered hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t make an appointment, I’m giving a speech tomorrow and I was told to smarten up as I was leaving work.”

James smiled at him, “Not to worry, I promise to have you looking the dapper gentleman.”

“Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that.”

James’s smile grew wider and he gestured to a chair. Lewis lowered himself into the chair with a loud sigh. James gave him an assessing look and said, “Let me make you some tea, I was about to make myself a cup.”

“Thank you,” said Lewis, surprised at this kind courtesy, it was the first time in his life’s experience of hair salons that he’d ever been offered anything.

“So tell me about this speech.”

“Ach, it’s nothing much. It’s a talk on the importance of peer mentoring and upskilling as one progresses through the middle ranks of the police force, and that’s a word I wish had never come out of my mouth,” said Robbie ruefully.

James’s appreciative laugh rang out clear as a bell.

“A detective, eh? Very impressive.”

“Not that impressive.”

“You don’t think so? It was a career I seriously considered at one stage, amongst others.”

“Oh? What were the other options?”

“Eternal student. Priest, for six very misguided months of my life. Policeman. Then my father passed away and things happened and I ended up going halves with a friend of mine and getting this place.”

Lewis couldn’t prevent a chuckle escaping his mouth. “That’s quite a range of choices. How did you get from priest to hairdresser? If you don’t mind my asking?”

James brought him a cup of tea and offered him sugar and milk.

“They’re connected actually. It’s a long story which I should tell you one day, but the summary is, Feardorcha wanted to run a salon and my best friend and I had the money to buy one, so,” he gave a little flourish, “here we are.”

Lewis’s eyes flickered to James’s eyes. Had he just suggested there would be a next time? James seemed to be looking at his lips. Was he imagining this or was this man interested in him? He decided that he was being an idiot. This man was barely more than a boy, smooth-skinned, soft lips, dimpled chin and sinuous muscles that were deliberately displayed in a form-hugging t-shirt. There was no way he would be interested in a middle-aged, over-the-hill widower.

“Let’s get started.”

James turned the chair around and lowered it backwards over the basin. Lewis closed his eyes as warm water sluiced over his scalp and gentle, strong hands massaged shampoo into his hair. As he worked James’s voice lulled him into a soporific state, describing to him how they had decorated and then opened up the salon. A burst of woody herbs suddenly surrounded him.

“That’s a conditioner. We’ll give it a bit of a nourishing treatment. You’re not washing this with soap, are you?”

Lewis cringed. His wife had always made him use shampoo, but he’d gotten out of the habit after her death when his bottle had run out and he’d forgotten to buy more.

“I can sell you something if you’d like. It would make your hair feel more like, well, hair.”

“Okay,” said Lewis, uncharacteristically keen to not appear like a complete barbarian.

The rhythmic stroking and massage on his head continued and Lewis felt his eyes close again as he relaxed utterly.

He woke to a hand shaking his arm firmly, and James’s slightly amused face swam into view.

“I’m putting ‘Can talk people to sleep’ on my CV,” said James.

“I’m so sorry, that was rude,” muttered Robbie, “I must be more tired than I realised.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Robbie was spun around in his chair again, and watched James skilfully and professionally trim his hair, all the time chatting soothingly and smiling at him in the mirror. In front of his eyes his hair changed from nondescript to something that even Robbie could appreciate was well-shaped and flattering.

“Like it?” James was smiling at him again.

Robbie’s eyes found James’s in the mirror.

“Very much,” he said, “Thank you.”

James bowed slightly. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Then he said, “We also do shaves. Would you like one? Be perfectly groomed for your talk,” he added with a wink.

Robbie wavered. He considered that it must be way past this man’s finishing time. On the other hand, he found he was enjoying the whole experience more than he ever expected to.

“Um, okay. Yes please.”

James’s smile widened again and he pulled out another trolley and prepared a towel for his face.

Robbie found his eyes closing a third time as he was enveloped in soothing warmth. As James applied lather to his face Robbie barely breathed at the intimacy of having his face in someone else’s hands and so closely scrutinised. Every stroke of the razor felt like a caress and every time he opened his eyes James was staring at him intently with his beautiful, serious eyes. He closed his eyes again, ashamed of staring so hungrily at the man, and a little anxious that James might realise how attracted Robbie was to him. Then James was gently wiping his face with more warm, wet cloths and gently patting something liquid onto his skin.

“This is an aloe vera toner,” said James. “It’s supposed to be calming on the skin after a shave. Um, we sell this stuff too, if you like it,” he added slightly sheepishly. His fingers were dancing lightly over Robbie’s face and Robbie closed his eyes again to hide his need to stare longingly. “Well, there you go.” James turned the chair again so that Robbie could stare at himself again. “Very debonair, a man of authority and substance,” James murmured with his eyes twinkling.  


Robbie stared at himself, not quite feeling the debonair part but definitely looking a good deal more polished than he had this morning.

“Thank you,” he said, a smile of genuine pleasure finally covering his entire face.

“You’re most welcome,” said James.

Robbie rose and went to the counter to pay. Feeling slightly guilty about making James late, he added the suggested shampoo and conditioner as well as a bottle of toner that he was almost sure he would never use to his tab.

“I hope we’ll see you again,” said James with a slight bow.

Unable to find the right words required for a response Robbie nodded and smiled. “Thank you, again. It was nice meeting you,” he added lamely before he turned to go.

Then he stepped out into the night with a confidence in his step that hadn’t been there before.

He told himself that he’d been imagining the intimacy of James’s smiles. The business card with his phone number he’d found in the bag along with the shampoo was just something any conscientious business owner would do. He drifted off to sleep still feeling the sensation of James’s fingers ghosting over his face. For some time afterwards he would find himself conjuring up the image of James’s face smiling at him.


	2. Chapter 2

He’d been putting off getting a haircut for weeks, nervous about coming face to face with James who had featured prominently on more than one occasion in his night-time fantasies. His guilt at dreaming about the lad was not quite sufficient to make him go looking for a different hairdresser however; so when he noticed his Superintendent frowning at his appearance more than once, he reluctantly rang the number on the business card he’d saved and made an appointment with Feardorcha who sounded rather more convivial than he had the day they met. He breathlessly confirmed that he wanted James to be his stylist and arrived ten minutes early for his session.

“Hello Robbie,” James was smiling at him, all tousled blond hair and sweet smiling mouth, and Lewis thought that the smile had widened when he’d seen him.

“James,” said Robbie, suddenly tongue-tied and smiley as a teenager faced with their first crush.

“Same as before?” James was running his fingers through Robbie’s hair, coaxing it into something more stylish.

“Yes please,” said Robbie, still finding his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth.

“This feels much softer than it did before,” said James, still stroking strands of hair. “you’ve been using that conditioner.”

Robbie felt his cheeks colouring and nodded his confirmation, not trusting himself to form coherent words.

“Right, well, let’s get you shampooed up, and I’ll talk you to sleep again.”

Robbie’s embarrassment must have shown in his eyes, but James merely winked at him and gave him a cheeky grin. As soon as Robbie felt the warm water drenching his head and the rhythmic massage soothing his tension away, his eyes fluttered shut and he listened to James talking about a world music concert he would be playing at with a local band he was a part of, as if the lad wasn’t impressive enough already. Lewis had considered himself ‘not bad’ at the karaoke evenings his late wife had occasionally dragged him to, but now felt humbled by the story he was hearing.

“I’d like to hear that,” he said without realising he had spoken out loud.

“I’ll be sure to let you know when we’re playing next,” said James sounding surprised and pleased. “Or you could just come round to one of our rehearsals, see if you like it. The boys won’t mind.”

Robbie felt his cheeks flaming and kept his eyes shut for fear of giving himself away. Was that an invitation? Surely this man didn’t invite all his customers to his band’s rehearsals?

“I’d like that,” he heard himself saying and then immediately cringed. Hadn’t he just said that? His eyes snapped open in self-consciousness and found himself staring straight into James’s upside-down face.

“Okay, excellent,” James’s voice had dropped to a silky growl and Robbie was stricken with horror and mortification to find himself hardening in his trousers. Thank God for the smock draping his body that hid everything from view. He was now completely incapable of taking his eyes off James, and helplessly, wordlessly worshipped the man while nodding and smiling in what he hoped were appropriate places as James talked and snipped and stroked his hair.

James started to hum as he began on the shave, his voice low and melodious. Robbie was helpless in the chair staring his adoration at a man he would never have thought he could have, but now seemed to be as interested as he was. Every so often their eyes would meet and Robbie could see James’s pupils widen slightly while his own pulse quickened. He concentrated on breathing and listening to every note in James’s throat, as gentle fingers touched his face.

“You need to give me your number,” said James as he walked him over to the counter, his hand just ghosting over the small of Robbie’s back, “So I can let you know about band practise,” he added noting Robbie’s slight wavering of confusion.

Robbie nodded and wrote his number down on a card James had offered him while Feardorcha rang up the appointment’s charges. 

“It was good to see you again, Robbie” said James. “Forgive me for abandoning you, but I’ve another client waiting.”

“Of course, thank you,” said Robbie. He received a fleeting smile and a touch to his arm; and then James whirled around and was gone. Feeling instantly bereft, Lewis turned back to the counter and handed over his card to pay. Feardorcha rolled his eyebrows at James’s back. 

“He fancies you, you know,” he said.

Lewis almost pinned in the wrong number in his surprise.

“I like him too,” he said and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Yeah, well, you might want to watch yourself. Angel boy over there isn’t much one for romance or love.”

Robbie gave him a glare and left. 

Feardorcha’s words annoyed him for days. Lewis was not one for drama and considered the advice the same way he would any piece of information: with careful scepticism. The words could have been said out of malice or ignorance, or even out of a careless or misguided sense of humour. Perhaps they were intended to warn off Lewis, perhaps Feardorcha had judged Lewis too old for James. At least on that point Robbie was inclined to agree. However, he reminded himself, he had not imagined the flirting had been instigated by James, low-key and subtle though it was. In any case, it wasn’t even clear what exactly Feardorcha had meant. Did James not do serious relationships? If he meant that James was only after a physical relationship then surely there were easier ways to pick someone up than invite a middle-aged copper to a band rehearsal. It made no sense, and that made it all the more annoying.

He sounded out his oldest friend, Laura Hobson, on the point. Laura was loyal and caring, but could be relied on to be both irreverent and indelicate as she felt the situation demanded.

“Jealousy?” she suggested, “or over-protectiveness?”

Robbie shrugged his ambivalence.

“More to the point, tell me about this James. Since when do you go in for cradle-robbing?”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, woman. He’s the one who invited me. I wouldn’t dream of making a pass at someone giving me a haircut. Didn’t sit through all those workplace harassment seminars for nothing.”

“Didn’t think for a second you would,” she said.

“Besides which, we haven’t done anything. Not yet. And I still don’t know exactly whether he would regard this as a date or just a friendly gesture to someone who showed an interest in his music.”

“Well, so long as you promise to let me give you away at the wedding,” Laura said with a smirk.

Lewis rolled his eyes at her.

“But seriously, Robbie, just - you know - be careful. It may have meant that this James has been hurt in the past and that’s why he doesn’t ‘do romance’; so he may be expecting to be hurt again.”

That was not an angle that Lewis had considered, so he patted Laura’s hand gratefully.

“Thanks, lass. I knew you would see something I hadn’t.”

She grinned at him in return and kissed him lightly on the cheek when they parted company and headed back to their respective workplaces.  
Robbie received a message on his phone three days after the haircut.

 _Hi Robbie_  
_7pm on Thurs. at St Martin’s if that suits?_  
_Maybe a drink afterwards_  
_James_

Robbie’s pulse quickened and he felt a slow burn in his stomach the instant he saw the text. His next thought was panic. What was the acceptable etiquette for replying to a text message these days?

_Dear James, I would love to_

He backspaced the message out. 

“You’re not writing a letter, man,” he told himself.

_Hi James, thanks for the invite. I was hoping you would_

No, too desperate.

_James, so glad to hear from you, sounds good, drinks would be great too._

Not writing a book either.

In the end he sent:

 _Hi James_  
_Sounds good, look forward to seeing you then._  
_Robbie_

He hoped that was clear enough a signal that he was interested if James was.


	3. Chapter 3

St Martins was one of the smaller, less illustrious churches of Oxford, beautiful but not big enough to attract hordes of tourists or wealthy endowments from benefactors down the ages. As Robbie approached the doorway his realised he was dizzy from not breathing. He’d driven Laura to the point of groaning at him as he agonised over what to wear until she had snapped at him: “Jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt and that brown leather jacket. You’re not meeting his parents or having tea with the Queen, for heaven's sakes. Oh, and go easy on the aftershave.”  
James noticed him as soon as he stepped inside the door and immediately laid down his guitar and came to meet him.

“You’re here,” he said beaming.

Robbie gave him an answering smile and said, “Wouldn’t miss this.”

James’s smile grew even wider and he took his arm and led him to the front and introduced him briefly to his band-mates.

“We’re going to get started right away,” he said, and Robbie acknowledged this with a nod and seated himself in the second row.

The group was far more professional than he’d expected. The music was a hybrid that seemed to veer between medieval sacred motets, madrigals and then became esoteric jazz. James had morphed into something otherworldly, merged with his guitar in a way that told Robbie of thousands of hours of practise and passion. His eyes were closed and his blonde head inclined towards his instrument in deep communication with it. Robbie stared transfixed at this shining apparition as achingly beautiful notes filled the highest parts of the church and reverberated around the space. When the music ceased he felt as if he had been floating for hours.

James’s eyes snapped to his instantly and Robbie wondered if his astonishment was showing on his face. He noticed that the smile on James’s face was measured, waiting.

“That was fantastic!” he heard himself say, and cringed inwardly at the trite cliché. When James put his guitar away and came over, he tried again. “You were amazing. I’ve never heard anything like this.”

The pleasure in James’s eyes told him it was the right thing to say.

“Right, let’s get that drink.”

Robbie had wondered whether James would want to hold hands on the way to the pub. Was that something men did these days on dates? He wasn’t sure. He’d last been with a man many years ago, and never on a date in a public place, times having been what they were. However James was carrying his guitar case with one hand and had a hold on his jacket slung over his shoulder with the other, so the question didn’t arise and they strolled companionably along while James told him about the pieces they’d been playing and Robbie babbled like a teenager on his first date full of genuine admiration for the man who kept smiling at him as they made their way down the road.

The pub was lively, but not overfull. 

“Do you mind if we sit outside?” said James. “I smoke. Um, but I don’t have to if you -”

“Outside’s fine. It’s a beautiful evening. How do you manage in winter?”

James chuckled, and Robbie couldn't help staring at how his face lit up when he laughed.

“Mostly, I don’t do this. Go on dates, I mean.”

“Don’t like romance?” said Lewis, remembering Feardorcha’s words.

“Don’t really do relationships.” James’s face fell, and Robbie wanted to kick himself for changing the mood.

“What I mean,” said James, “is that I mostly seem to have pathologically bad taste in men, and only enough self-preservation to get out before it goes nuclear. Eventually I had to start thinking it was me, not them. I mean, it can’t always be them, right? Sorry, Jesus. I didn’t mean to unload all my baggage on the first date.”

“You’re alright, man,” said Robbie.

“You are probably starting to see that I don’t do this very often,” said James, his voice grown a little small and embarrassed.

“Neither do I,” said Robbie. “In fact, this is my first time since my wife passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” James said sincerely.

“It’s okay, it’s been five years now. I miss her, but you learn to live with it,” said Robbie. He sighed, “Now who’s unloading baggage?”

James smiled at him and lifted his glass.

“In that case, pleased to meet you Robbie.”

Robbie clinked his bottle against the glass.

“Likewise, James. Here’s to the start of something non-nuclear.”

James gave him a laugh of pure delight.

As neither of them had eaten earlier, they ordered chicken wings and chips and spent the evening peaceably chewing and talking about their lives and the upcoming music festival and local concert that the group was preparing for. Robbie marvelled at how easily they fitted into each other’s company. He still wasn’t sure why someone like James would be interested in him, by his estimation there was more than two decades between them. But they were undeniably enjoying each other. James looked relaxed and happy and both of them could feel the electric undercurrent of attraction building between them. Somewhere during their third pint James reached across the table and took Robbie’s hand and said, “Would you like to come back to my place?” Then he hesitated, “Unless you’ve got to go?”

Robbie answered breathlessly without hesitation, “I’d like to go with you.”

James lit up at his reply and stroked his fingers. Robbie downed his pint and James put on his jacket. This time they set off next to each other, bodies touching and a few paces down the road James twined his fingers around Robbie’s.

The first thing James did on reaching his flat was carefully put his guitar in a safe spot while Robbie stood and looked around at the countless shelves of books that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. James looked at Robbie, all wide-eyed and and said huskily, “I like to read. Whiskey?”

“Yes please,” said Robbie, suddenly feeling butterflies at being in the man’s private space. He sat on the couch and watched as James elegantly selected two glasses and poured double shots into them. He sat next to Robbie and handed him a glass, and the sensation of electricity intensified as their fingers touched again.

Silence suddenly loomed between them and Robbie cursed himself inwardly for his awkwardness. He hadn’t done this since he was a teenager and now he felt like one again. He took a sip of whiskey and relished the burn on his tongue before he put the glass down on the table and turned to look at James. The boy was wide-eyed and his lips were slightly parted and he was staring just as intently at Robbie. It was the most beautiful sight he’d maybe ever seen. Without even realising it he reached for James, touching his cheek. James nuzzled into his palm and his breath gusted down Robbie’s arm. They melted into each other, and their first kiss was a gentle ghost, just barely touching each other’s lips. James tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and Robbie thought it was delicious. Their kisses grew longer and deeper and then James straddled Robbie’s lap and cradled his head in both hands. For long moments he pressed kisses to Robbie’s cheeks and jaw before he returned to his mouth, at last begging for entry and hungrily devouring him. They were both hard and began to rock into each other, straining for more pressure as their kisses grew sloppier and their breaths gasping against each other’s faces.

“Off, please,” whispered James, searching for the bottom of Robbie’s shirt. Robbie hesitated for one second as he considered his soft belly and cringed at the thought of James seeing it, but once James had eased it off there was nothing but hunger and adoration in his face. He started to pull James’s t-shirt up and James pulled it over his head in an instant and then returned to kissing Robbie’s throat. They pulled apart, panting and dizzy and Robbie drank in the sight of a taut lean-muscled stomach and pale, almost entirely smooth chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he heard himself say.

James flushed as if he’d never been complimented before, and pressed a lingering and affectionate kiss to his mouth.

“Bedroom?” he suddenly sounded shy. Robbie took his hand and was led down the corridor.

James opened the drawer of his bedside table and withdrew a bottle of lubricant and after rummaging around found a box of condoms. He checked the date. 

“Sorry,” he said, “I haven’t um, I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Me either,” admitted Robbie.

“So, do you want … ?” James left the question hanging but lowered himself onto his back and opened his legs so that Robbie could slide between them. Robbie nodded and slowly slid the jeans over James’s hips and pulled them off him. His own were discarded on the floor seconds later. James was hard and leaking and Robbie slicked up his hand before wrapping his hand around him and stroking him slowly, watching the boy’s eyelids flutter in pleasure before pushing his legs further apart so that he could open him up. Wordlessly James watched Robbie’s face as he pushed his fingers inside him, twisting and stroking him and watching the muscles on his stomach quiver with pleasure. When he was ready Robbie rolled on a condom with shaky hands and slicked himself up some more before parting James’s legs further and slowly pushing inside him, shivering with the effort of controlling his movements while carefully watching James’s face for any sign of discomfort. James’s expression seemed for an instant to show surprise and relief and a thought suddenly crossed Robbie’s mind. Had James been hurt like this before? Had he been expecting to be hurt?

“You okay, love?” he said his own voice gravelly with emotion, “tell me when you’re ready.”

James breathed shallowly for a second and then seemed to relax in his arms and nodded smiling up at him.

“I’m fine, Robbie.”

Robbie began to thrust into his tight, slick heat, spellbound by James’s ardent and trusting gaze into his eyes. As they moved together Robbie began to feel that this was the most intense experience of his life as James kept his eyes locked on his and their breathing became more ragged and their rhythm more fervent, James thrusting into their joined hands as Robbie buried himself inside him. Then James was coming hot and wet over them together and Robbie followed him moments later into bliss and darkness.

It seemed some time later before Robbie’s breathing returned to a more normal pace and he felt James shift slightly underneath him.

“Sorry,” he said pulling out as gently as he could and rolling off him. He rolled the condom off and James tossed it in the wastepaper basket. Then he snuggled into Robbie’s arms pulling a duvet over them both and they drifted into dreamless sleep utterly sated and exhausted. Robbie had no concept of how much time had passed by the time he woke but it was still black outside and they were both sticky. He noticed James blink awake next to him and kissed his cheek.

“Wow,” said James. 

Robbie chuckled.

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever passed out so utterly like that before,” James sounded like he was amazed. Robbie found himself replaying their earlier conversation again. How ‘bad taste’ had the previous relationships had been? He stroked the lad’s head gently and felt James nuzzle into him again, relishing the touch.

“I’ve made us messy,” James whispered.

“Stay where you are,” murmured Robbie and he rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom, selected a cloth and ran it under the hot top and returned to the bed. He gently wiped down James’s stomach and thighs and then ran it over his own nether regions before discarding it on the bedside table. James was staring at him with adoration again. He lay down beside him and drew him into his arms. Immediately James buried his face in Robbie’s shoulder, breathing him in.

“Better?” Robbie asked.

“Much,” whispered James.

“What are you up to this weekend?” said Robbie. “Would you like to do something?”

He got a smile of delight from James.

“The salon’s open on Saturday, but we close at five. We could do dinner?”

“Sold,” said Robbie. “I’ll make a reservation and let you know where.” 

At the mention of food Robbie’s stomach growled and James giggled. 

“Make you a sandwich?”

“Yes please,” Robbie was suddenly ravenous.

He followed James into the kitchen after donning his boxers and shirt again. He wasn’t quite ready to go parading naked through the flat just yet, still conscious of the softness of his stomach in contrast to the hard muscle on James. James on the other hand kept stealing little adoring looks at him and once the rolls stuffed with ham and tomatoes and cheese were bubbling under the grill he cuddled Robbie against his chest and leaned their heads together. The easy domesticity relaxed them both and when they were munching on their food Robbie noticed they were both smiling at each other in between bites.

Once they were back in bed James laid his head on Robbie’s shoulder and rested his arm across his chest.

“I don’t know what you see in me, lad,” said Robbie sleepily, “but I’m glad we met.”

“Me too,” said James. 

As Robbie drifted off to sleep he heard James whisper, “You’re so beautiful.”


	4. Chapter 4

Laura forebore commenting as they walked across the crime scene in the middle of the afternoon, but Lewis could tell from her constant glances and Cheshire cat grins that she had plenty to say.

“Okay, let’s have it,” he said eventually.

She laughed out loud.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Yeah right,” he replied.

Her eyes twinkled at him. 

“Only that you have been smiling non-stop which is a first for Inspector Frowny Face. Seriously, even the deceased has noticed.”

“I do not scowl.”

“Your resting-face is a scowl. It frightens all the young constables.”

“Well, it’s good to know that you haven’t lost your sense of professional decorum around dead bodies” he tried defensively.

“So I take it the big date went well?”

Lewis sighed.

“It did.”

“And?”

“We’re having dinner on Saturday.”

“Ooh! Nice. Where are you going?”

“I was hoping that you were going to tell me.”

Laura rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh God, Lewis. Last of the Great Romantics, you.”

Saturday evening found Lewis seated in the restaurant of Laura’s recommendation, having changed his clothes three times trying to find something that he thought didn’t make him look old, boring or out of a previous century.

“Hello.”

James appeared at his side and smiled shyly before seating himself opposite him. Lewis was semi-relieved that James looked as nervous as he felt, but their intimacy from the other evening had faded in the light of day and they were almost strangers again.

“Busy day?” Robbie said.

“Saturdays always are,” said James. 

“You were going to tell me the story of how you ended up with the shop,” Robbie prompted, hoping it would break the ice again.

“Oh,” James brightened a little. “Well, I own it with my best friend from school, Will. He’s Feardorcha’s partner. I was training to be a priest after having read theology at Cambridge, but um, it wasn’t going particularly well. I was constantly getting into arguments about the Church’s teaching on homosexuality, and I was getting more and more frustrated butting my head against a wall of doctrine. 

Robbie poured him some wine and motioned to him to continue.

“The worst part came when Will got involved with some awful ultra-conservative sect that tried to make gay people straight. He and I were constantly fighting on what the right thing to do was, and all of us were more miserable by the day. Then my father died, and on the day of the funeral Will and I made a pact to join our resources and leave organised religion behind us.”

“Good for you,” said Robbie.

James acknowledged this with a bow of his head and frowned.

“I still believe,” he said. “I just can’t have anything to do with an institution that teaches that I’m wrong. ‘Intrinsically disordered’ is the term they use. Anyway, that was when Feardorcha said he wanted to run a salon and we found the shop. One of my better decisions in life. Plus it gives me plenty of time to do the things l love - reading and playing music.”

“I’m impressed,” said Lewis. That must have taken courage.”

James smiled his relief at him and sipped at his wine. It still felt a little awkward between them and Robbie began to wonder if James was rethinking seeing someone so much older than him. Just as he was about to say something, James interrupted him.

“Are you okay with this? With us?”

“Of course I am,” said Robbie. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since I last saw you.”

It was the right thing to say. Instantly the lad’s mood lifted and the James that Robbie knew came to life; confident, if just a touch endearingly shy.

“We’re playing at the folk festival on Monday and Tuesday, but after that we’re giving a concert in St Martin's. I’d love for you to come to that as my guest.”

“I’ll be there,” said Robbie.

When they got to the flat James immediately whirled around and said, “Can I play you something?”

“I’d like that,” said Robbie.

James took out his guitar and strummed for a few moments tuning the instrument, and then started to pluck out a melancholy waltz, then he started to sing in a language Robbie couldn’t identify for sure. His voice started low and smokey and then soared and then finally fell again as the song slowed and ebbed to it’s wistful end.

“It's Portuguese,” said James, “I’m playing it at the concert, but we didn’t rehearse it yesterday, so I wanted you to hear it.”

“It was beautiful,” said Robbie, “you keep surprising me, James.”

He wondered again why this brilliant man would want to hang out with him, but he knew better than to spoil the mood by trying to push for information that James had already indicated that he wished to avoid.

Later they were on James’s couch, ties discarded and shirts undone, all searching fingers and breathy sighs and soft kisses. 

“Blue,” murmured James. “Your eyes are so blue. It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

“Oh?” said Robbie.

“Yes, and then I thought you looked kind. And then you fell asleep in my chair and that’s when I fell in love with you a little bit.”

He broke off abruptly, and Robbie could see a veil come down over his expression as if he regretted revealing himself and expected ridicule to follow. Robbie couldn’t be having that, so he took the lad's face in his hands and kissed him long and slow, savoring their hot breaths against each other’s cheeks.

“Don’t look like that, James, you don’t know what a blooming miracle you are, lad,” Robbie said solemnly.

James breathed heavily and was about to reply when the kitchen door crashed open and Feardorcha stumbled into the room. He looked accusingly at the sight of James and Robbie wrapped up in each other and remarked “Well, you didn’t waste any time getting into his pants, did you?”

Robbie flinched and began to button up his shirt.

“What the hell are you doing in my house, Feardorcha?” said James.

“Will and me had a row.” he replied sulkily.

“Still not sure why you chose to let yourself in to my place, with my spare keys I’m assuming, that Will keeps for me in case I lose mine.”

Feardorcha threw himself onto the couch and ignored the remark. Instead he looked at Robbie and said, “Isn’t he a bit old for you? I mean, really, Angel-boy, if you have to go slutting around Oxford surely you can find someone a little bit more your own age to treat you rough?”

Lewis found his scalp prickling in horror. “Perhaps I should go,” he said.

“Was it something I said?” Feardorcha smirked. “Don't go. Our James loves them mean.”

Robbie silenced him with a look, one he’d honed over years of dealing with recalcitrant witnesses and belligerent criminals in countless dreary interview rooms. He turned to James and said, “I’ll call you,” and made his exit. The look of despair on James’s face did not escape him.

There was a series of text messages on his phone.

_I’m sorry, Robbie. Please let me explain._

_Please talk to me._

_Aren’t you going to say anything?_

Lewis switched his phone off and put it back in his pocket.


	5. Chapter 5

“Okay, let’s have it,” Laura and Robbie were having their weekly coffee session and Lewis was staring into the distance blankly.

“Have what?” he hedged vainly.

Laura gave him a look that conveyed both annoyance and her lack of patience at his evasiveness. 

“Last week you were the smilingest man on the planet, this week it’s like someone ran over your cat. What happened to the budding romance?” Then she gave him a look of sympathy and took his hand. “Did something happen?”

“Eh, I think I’m too old for this stuff,” said Lewis after casting about for a few seconds. “I’m too old for him, and let’s just say that one of his friends said so in so many words the other day. Also,” and here he hesitated, “I’m not sure that this relationship is healthy either.”

“What do you mean?” Laura asked.

“It’s just that there’s been more than one hint that James has a bad track record of deliberately choosing partners that are doomed to turn bad.”

“And do you have any reason to think that this is why he chose you?”

Lewis was silent for a while.

“Well, apart from why a young man would choose a copper who’s closer to retirement than he likes to admit?” 

“Well, that can’t be the real reason why you’re sitting here with a face as long as a horse.”

“Okay,” he turned an exasperated eye on her. “Our date was also interrupted by one of his friends who was crude and hostile, and it made me think that this probably isn’t a good idea. I’m too old - too old for him and I’m certainly too old for melodrama on a Saturday night.”

Laura paused and mulled it over and and then said, “I think you should give it some thought. You looked so happy last week. Isn’t your happiness worth taking a risk for?”

Lewis was silent.

“Did you like him? I mean really like him?”

He hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. I mean, James is charming and sweet and we just seem to fit together. And, um…” he trailed off and felt his cheeks flaming.

“And the sex is good.”

“Yes, the sex is good, thank you,” he said acidly.

“Well, then don’t you think you ought to at least give it a chance?” she said.

Robbie shrugged and continued to stare gloomily into his cup.

“Did he contact you after this bad date?”

Lewis nodded. “He texted me a few times.”

“And? What did you say?”

“I haven’t replied,” he admitted.

“Well, that’s just rude,” said Laura, “It’s not like you to just leave someone hanging.”

“It’s not like me to go on dates in the first place.”

Laura glared at him. 

“You know what I mean,” she continued, “If you like this person, and he’s as nice as you say he is, then don’t judge him because of the behaviour of one friend; and the very least you could do is not treat him poorly.”

Lewis cringed at her words. If Feardorcha was to be believed about anything, then he was treating James as badly as he was used to from previous relationships. On the other hand he wasn’t sure that he could stomach a future that featured spiteful comments from Feardorcha and general disapproval from James’s friends and colleagues.

He sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

His afternoon was filled with paperwork, so he was somewhat relieved when a uniformed constable knocked at the door and said “There’s two blokes at the front desk to see you, sir.”

Lewis wasn’t expecting any visitors on official business or otherwise, so he was somewhat nonplussed and said, “What kind of blokes?”

“Dunno, guv. One of ‘em’s got flaming red hair,” came the useful reply.

Lewis rolled his eyes and chose not to comment on the shortcomings of today’s young policeman.

“Right. Thank you,” he said and wearily rose to his feet. Red hair could only mean one person, and Lewis wasn’t sure that he had anything to say to the man. He put on his least approachable face and marched downstairs to find Feardorcha and and unknown man standing waiting for him.

“Is this him?” said the stranger to Feardorcha. Feardorcha nodded sulkily and the young man put out his hand to Lewis who took it cautiously.

“I’m Will, James’s friend. Feardorcha’s here to apologise,” he said.

I apologise,” said Feardorcha sounding anything but apologetic. He was nudged impatiently by Will. “It was rude of me and now James isn’t talking to me.”

He got nudged again.

“Please don’t judge him because of me. He’s had a bad enough week without getting dumped by you.”

Lewis was momentarily stunned by the unexpected if rather inelegant _mea culpa_. But his copper’s ears had noted something else.

“What do you mean, he had a bad enough week?”

“Someone stole his guitar on Tuesday while he was at the festival. It was his most treasured possession,” said Will.

“Describe this guitar, please” he said pulling out his notepad.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days later saw Lewis standing nervously in front of the barber salon front door, recovered Gibson guitar in one hand. He’d been mulling over the abortive attempt at a relationship with James all week, in between hunting down the stolen guitar in his spare moments. The guitar had been laughably easy to locate, and the thief was now cooling his heels in Cell 3 while waiting for the smug git’s lawyer to turn up. He was hoping that the guitar would serve as a peace offering and an apology. With one last fortifying breath he opened the door and went in.

He received a startled look from Feardorcha behind the desk, then a meek, “Hello, Mr Lewis.”

“Feardorcha, is James here?”

Feardorcha nodded, “James!” he yelled. Lewis winced. 

James emerged from the back room looking thunderous and halted in surprise at the sight of Robbie. Multiple emotions crossed his face and settled on worried and hopeful. Lewis raised the guitar.

“Found something for you.”

Immediately surprise took over the lad’s face and he came forward and took the proffered guitar with both hands, absolute delight radiating off him.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you. So much! How did you even know?” He broke off cradling the instrument in his arms.

“Your friends may have mentioned it to me, and well, I’m not a copper for nothing,” said Lewis.

James’s head swivelled to Feardorcha who shrugged nonchalantly.

“I was hoping that you would treat this as an apology from a foolish man, and let me come to your concert, if you’ll still have me.”

There wasn’t a second’s hesitation, James’s face lit up with joy, momentarily speechless as he was overcome with emotion. He nodded eagerly and disappeared into the back room and then re-emerged with two tickets.

“It’s tomorrow at eight,” he said handing them over.

“Thank you,” said Lewis. The public space and lack of privacy brought the old awkwardness back, and he suddenly ran out of steam. “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said. “Thanks again,” he backed off waving the tickets. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

James’s gaze followed him out of the room.

Laura agreed to join him at the concert; partly for moral support, but mostly for reasons of prurient inquisitiveness. She had privately thought that Lewis would remain alone for the rest of his life. Apart from one memorable evening over a bottle of brandy where he had come out to her as bi (the hangover that had produced had been spectacular); and one misconceived and exceptionally short-lived foray on to Tinder; Lewis had remained disinterested in pursuing romance or relationships. This made the appearance of James both a surprise and a curiosity. There had to be something special about this person to have cracked Lewis’s cranky facade.

She was impressed at the band, it wasn’t the sort of stuff she’d imagined Robbie would have ever have voluntarily listened to; but a few stealthy glances at him confirmed that he was utterly riveted, if not by the music then by the musicians; or to be more precise, one of the musicians.

“Which one is he?” she whispered.

“The blonde lad with the guitar” he answered without taking his eyes off the raised dais.

Laura focussed her attention on the man unwittingly at the center of their attention. Her first impression was of solemnity. He was completely immersed in his music, roughly to the same degree as her neighbour was in the lad himself. He was handsome too, in a long-faced sort of way, but not remotely the sort of person she thought Lewis would be attracted to. Evidently she had been wrong on so many counts. Then the man spoke.

“This is for Robbie,” was all he said.

Then he began the same pensive melody that Lewis had heard before in James’s flat, before things had gone wrong. James wound his way sweetly through the song and in the audience Laura started to smile.

The final bars drifted through the crowd

 _Tudo fiz por um beijo_  
_Mas não foi só um beijo_  
_Para mim_

The audience erupted in warm applause and the band came together for one final, rousing piece before bowing and smiling to the crowd. Robbie was beaming and as they rose Laura said, “Before I go, there’s something you need to know.”

Lewis turned to her and said, “What’s that then?”

“You don’t speak Portuguese, but luckily I did a course once upon a time.”

“So you understood that song?”

“I did, and I think it’s a message for you, although your young man might choose slightly less cryptic clues in future if he hopes to be understood.”

Lewis’s eyes were sparking with impatience, “Well, what is it then?”

“General gist; it’s a song to a lover who isn’t sure of the singer’s true intentions. The final lines are:

I did everything for a kiss  
But it was not just a kiss  
For me

Make any sense to you?”

The smile on his face told her it did.

“I’m going to go now,” she said. “Mind yourself, and I expect all the gory details when we have lunch. Oh, and bring your James along. I want to meet the man.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She grinned at him and then she was gone.

Robbie waited for the crowd around the band to disperse before he moved forward to get to James. He saw his head above the crowd scanning for someone and realised with a gulp that it must be himself. As soon as their eyes met the worried expression on James’s face relaxed and he gave Robbie a hopeful smile.

Robbie didn’t really trust himself with words, so he he settled for walking up to James, and when the boy’s eyes showed that they understood each other he kissed him softly. 

“My friend translated the last lines of your song for me. You’re going to have to tell me the rest of it some time.”

“I can do that.”

“And I hope you’ll forgive a daft man for ever doubting you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” said James quietly, “I don’t blame you for finding it all too weird. Feardorcha’s lovely most of the time, but sometimes he can be a bit much to take.”

“Maybe you should blame me sometimes. I’m not perfect, lad. I misjudged the situation. You’re allowed to be upset with me.”

“I don’t want to be upset with you.”

“How about a drink then?”

“Yes, please.”

“My place this time,” said Lewis.

He got a sweet smile for a reply.

“And I promise you, lad, I’m going to do my best to never hurt you again.”

James took his hand in his free one.

“I know. Robbie, I didn’t choose you because I thought you were going to be bad for me. I chose you because you looked kind, like a good person, and you were funny. Also hot,” he added the last bit in a whisper.

“I’m genuinely concerned about your eyesight, James Hathaway,” said Robbie.

“And I’m genuinely concerned about your poor choices in hair product, Inspector Lewis, but I’ll make it this year’s project to reform you.”

“Oh, is that a fact?”

He got an amused side-eyed glance and they both laughed and strolled on into Oxford together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song that inspired the story.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrAITklsT7E&ab_channel=luisasobral


End file.
